Whelan Academy
by magneticdice
Summary: AU: Ian follows in the Gallagher family footsteps: he enrolls in Whelan Academy to become a police officer. He struggles to prove himself worthy of being a cop, struggling to meet the physical and academic demands of the school. He meets and befriends Mickey Milkovich, the "King of the Underground," but can two people who are meant to be enemies ever really be friends?
1. Chapter 1: Family

**A/N:**

I was inspired to write this after seeing how adorable Cameron looked in his Vampire Academy uniform. (I haven't read that and I actually have no idea what it's about... this fic is totally random.)

While Whelan Academy doesn't actually exist (I made it up for this story), Northerly Island is a real place in Chicago and houses the Adler Planetarium and the Burnham Yacht Club. It's part of the Chicago Parks District and is used for concerts and stuff. I did as much research as I could about law enforcement (ranks, training, etc.), but if I got anything wrong, please let me know so I can fix it ASAP. I've only been to Chicago once, so I hope I don't fuck it up too badly... Also, I know that you have to be 21+ to be a cop in Illinois, but I'm ignoring that for this fic. Students of Whelan Academy are aged 16-19 and can be cops if they pass the civil service exam before graduating. (Actually, they can't graduate if they don't pass.)

I took a few liberties with this story. One big difference to note is that the Gallaghers do _not_ steal. They are [mostly] good kids and moral members of society. Also, the story starts off with Ian being small and weak, because he hasn't been in Junior ROTC and hasn't had his growth spurt yet. Another thing I changed is that Kash is Ian's age, and Mickey about twenty-five at the start of the fic (nine years older than Ian).

There are a lot of original characters, so if it gets to be a bit confusing or anything down the line, just let me know and I will make a glossary.

Any and all comments are appreciated!

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**Chapter 1: Family**

Ian came from a long line of cops. His dad was a third-generation cop, and they'd all served in the Chicago Police Department, ever since the days of Al Capone and the Chicago Syndicate. In fact, Ian's dad Frank had been one of CPD's most decorated officers. The Gallaghers were model citizens. They'd always been exemplary members of society. Everyone in the community looked up to them.

That was the case until about 15 years ago.

Unbeknownst to anyone else in the family, Ian's grandmother Peggy Gallagher had been illegally running a meth lab for years. An accident led to the lab exploding, killing two people in the process. Peg had been arrested and sent to prison.

Frank had taken the discovery of his mom's illicit activities the hardest, considering it a personal betrayal. He became the laughing stock of the Force. How could a cop not see what was going on right under his own nose? Frank began drinking to forget his problems, spending all of his money on drugs and alcohol. It wasn't long before he was forced into early retirement, and with all of his pension going to fund his alcoholism, the Gallaghers soon lost their house.

Ian's mom, Monica, couldn't handle what her husband had become. People were always talking about Frank's failure at being an officer... Being forced to move from their nice house in the suburbs to a dump in Canaryville, in the South Side of Chicago, was the last straw. Monica left, abandoning her drunk of a husband and their three children, Fiona, Lip and Ian.

Fiona had only been six years old when their happy bubble had been shattered. None of their uncles had offered to help, so Fiona had become a mother to Lip and Ian, using whatever scraps Frank would give them to support the kids and keep the family going.

The Gallaghers kept to themselves, trying not to make any big ripples. The less attention the got, the better. Fiona didn't want anyone learning about their situation and calling DCFS. She somehow managed to keep the family on the straight and narrow. She raised her brothers to be morally sound, hard working and clever kids who excelled in school.

Once in a while Monica would come back. She'd start things up with Frank again, get pregnant, and leave Fiona with more siblings to take care of. First Debbie was born, then Carl, then finally Liam. It didn't take long for them to realize that Monica was bipolar. She just couldn't handle stress well, especially when she stopped taking her meds.

Fiona was very overprotective and never let her brothers and sister feel neglected or short-changed. They were always loved and she did everything to do right by her family, eventually dropping out of high school and working two jobs to make ends meet. She even sacrificed her social life, never dating or making any real friends, because all of her time was devoted to her family. It was hard; they lived paycheck to paycheck.

Lip knew how hard Fiona worked, and, being the genius that he was, had decided to help out. He'd finished high school early and was in his second year of college already. He went to the University of Michigan at Ann Arbor, but Lip sent any extra money he earned back home to his sister. He came back to Chicago for a few weeks at the end of each summer so he wouldn't miss his siblings growing up.

It had been Ian's dream, ever since he was a little kid, to be a police officer just like his dad and grandpa and great grandpa before him. He dressed up as one every Halloween. Lip may not have wanted to continue with the family legacy, but he did. It probably didn't help that their neighbor Tony Markovich, who Ian looked up to, had also decided to join the force. Tony had been friends with Fiona ever since they had moved to Canaryville, and he was currently enrolled at the Whelan Police Academy.

"You all packed?" Fiona asked Ian as she took the kids' laundry out of the dryer and dumped them into a basket. He'd been lost in thought but her voice had snapped him back to reality.

"Yep. I don't exactly have to take a lot with me..." Whelan kids wore uniforms at all times when they were on school grounds. He would only need pajamas and a few casual outfits for trips downtown.

Lip came down the stairs and into the kitchen, fully dressed. He poured himself a cup of coffee before plopping down on one of the kitchen chairs. Ever since Lip had gotten to Canaryville the week before, he had been talking non-stop about going back to Michigan. Apparently there was some huge party on campus happening tonight to welcome all of the new students for the fall semester.

"So," he finally looked at Ian after taking a much needed sip of the hot coffee, "we doing this soon?'

Lip was tasked with making sure Ian got to the school safely. Dropping him off at Whelan Academy and the four hour bus ride to U-M were all that were left before Lip could cut loose and kick off the new school year. Ian didn't complain about his brother rushing him. He was grateful for the company. Despite the fact that they lived in Canaryville, Ian wasn't used to the big city. He'd never even gone on the L alone because Fiona had wanted to limit the kids' exposure to the seedier parts of Chicago.

Ian took one last bite of his toast and nodded to his brother. Lip may have only been a year and a half older than him, but he was definitely the older one. Ian was the scrawny, skinny and short one. He and Debbie were the only redheads in the family.

"Can you wake the little ones? We have to be at church in less than an hour." Ian nodded. "Make sure you say bye to them before you leave. Who knows how long it'll be before you can visit..."

"Okay, Fi. I will."

He went up to Debbie's room first. She was sitting on her bed and reading a book. His sister was only ten, but she was such a good kid already. She helped Fiona with chores all the time and especially helped with taking care of their youngest brother, Liam. She had a good heart and was mature and grounded for her age.

"You're leaving?" she asked Ian, sadness written all over her face. Since Lip had gone away to college, Ian and Debbie had gotten very close.

"Yeah... Fiona wanted me to tell you that you need to get ready for church soon."

Debbie bit her bottom lip and nodded.

"You know I'm gonna miss you, right?"

Debbie nodded again.

"I'm not sure how much time they will give us to go online, but email me as often as you want to, and I promise I'll write back when I get a chance. 'Kay?"

One last nod, but at least she was smiling.

"I love you," she said, throwing her hands around his waist.

He patted her on the back. "Love you too, sis."

Carl and Liam were still asleep in the room the boys all shared together. He went over to the bunk bed and lightly shook Carl until he stirred.

"Carl... wake up... It's Sunday morning. Time to get up..."

"Ian?"

"Yep. You better hurry if you wanna shower before Debs gets all the hot water..."

Carl jumped out of the bed.

"Wait!" Ian called after him as the boy ran out the room, peeling his shirt off in the process.

"Good luck at school!" was the only response he got from his little brother, who clearly couldn't be bothered with giving Ian a proper goodbye.

Liam was the last one left. Ian went over to the toddler's crib and roused him. "Good morning, buddy. Let's take you downstairs." He picked Liam up and grabbed his small duffel bag with the other hand. He headed down the stairs and deposited Liam into his high chair.

Fiona was busy putting the second load of laundry into their shitty washing machine. "Do you need anything else? Money?" She poured the detergent in and hip-checked the door shut. It was a marvel that the thing still functioned. God knew they wouldn't be able to afford a new one once it gave out.

"I'm good. Thanks, Fi."

"Okay. Give me a hug."

Ian hugged his sister tightly and she squeezed him right back. When they stepped apart, Fiona was wiping tears from her eyes.

"I know you've been dying to go to this school for years, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm going to miss you. Be careful. Be good."

Ian felt his own cheeks were wet. "I will," he said with a grin as he wiped away the evidence of his nerves. It was true—he'd wanted to go to Whelan Academy for as long as he could remember. The next three years were going to be the most difficult of his life, and he hoped he could cut it.

Lip was waiting for him impatiently at the back door. "Come on, let's get this show on the road. I have to be back in Ann Arbor tonight," Lip said, motioning for Ian to hurry up.

They were walking from their house to the train, and Ian decided now was the best time to talk to his brother. "Lip, can I ask you something?"

"'Course. Shoot."

Ian swallowed and tried to clear the ball in his throat that had been forming since he'd woken up that morning. He was scared of going away to school and being without his siblings. He had so many doubts. Was he good enough? Would he be able to cut it?

"Before you left... before you went to college... you used to go downtown all the time, right?"

Lip looked at him sideways and smirked. "If you knew, why didn't you tell Fiona?"

Ian shrugged. "I figured you knew what you were doing... but now I'm curious. Where did you go when you snuck out?"

"You remember how Frank would leave us a couple hundred bucks every other week so that we could buy groceries?" Ian nodded. Lip always called their dad Frank. "Well, it wasn't from him. I won it playing poker."

Ian's jaw dropped.

"Come on... Don't look so shocked. Fiona couldn't afford to feed us all, and after I heard Monica was pregnant with Liam, I knew I had to do something."

They made the rest of the trip in silence, taking the red line train to Roosevelt and a bus to the Field Museum. They would have to go the rest of the way on foot. As they walked towards the Shedd Aquarium and Adler Planetarium, they passed through a farmers' market.

"Is this always here?" Ian asked.

Lip shook his head. "It pops up every weekend. Apparently some people think it's nice to be able to buy fresh, locally grown fruits and shit." They both laughed a little, recalling the month that Fiona had insisted on them only buying organic produce.

Ian looked around at all of the booths, tables and stands, completely overwhelmed. The stalls took up the space of at least three city blocks and the streets were closed off to allow people to walk around safely. Aside from the obvious fruits, vegetables, and meat being sold, there were also prepared foods and drinks, and even crafts for sale.

They kept to the edge of the market, walking by the various storefronts against the steady stream of pedestrians. Never in his life had Ian seen so many people milling about. If he hadn't been following Lip, he definitely would have gotten lost. He was so distracted by all the colorful booths that Ian didn't notice the girls standing in front of a store called the Garden Spring Spa until one of them beckoned for Lip to come in.

"Oh my God, Lip. Are those prostitutes?" Ian whispered to his brother. Lip nodded, laughing. The girl that had called to Lip was pale, tall and had dark hair. She wore a purple dress and watched the Gallagher boys walk by with dead eyes. "And they're just out in the middle of the day?" he asked, even more incredulous.

"Things work differently here, Ian. Make sure you guard your wallet closely." He seemed to be directing his comment to a short, dark haired man who was standing near Ian. The man grinned, white teeth flashing in his pale face.

"Who, me?" he asked innocently.

Lip snorted and continued walking. The man winked one bright blue eye at Ian and vanished into the crowd. Ian watched him go until someone shouted for him to watched where he was going. He wondered if the man with the blue eyes was really a thief. He'd seemed very nice... but Ian held on to his duffel bag just a bit tighter.

Ian became more and more nervous the closer they got to Whelan Academy. Once they'd crossed over Solidarity drive, they were on Northerly Island. South Linn White Drive was the only street on the island, running from the Planetarium straight down to the school, a mile south. The boys had nothing to look at but the trees that lined the road on either side of them as they walked south.

They passed through the iron gates of the school but still couldn't see any buildings until they'd walked for another ten minutes.

There is was: Whelan Police Academy.

The main building stood at the end of the road which created a circular driveway before doubling back on itself. The dark brick building stood five stories tall and had its back to Lake Michigan. It looked just as incredible as Ian had always imagined it to be.

Lip put his arm on Ian's shoulder. "I wish I could say 'have fun', but I don't see how anyone can willingly subject themselves to the torture you're gonna be putting yourself through. Just make sure you keep your grades up. I didn't take that test for you to get in here and get that scholarship just for you to blow it because you couldn't learn basic shit, alright?"

Ian looked back at Lip guiltily. He'd studied for over a year but hadn't even been able to pass the practice tests for the school's entrance exam. Lip had created a fake ID and taken the test for Ian. Neither of them had told Fiona anything about it. As far as she knew, Ian's hard work had paid off.

"I won't fuck up."

"Good... Good luck, little bro. You're gonna need it." He squeezed Ian's shoulder and turned around to take the long walk back on his own.

Ian took a deep breath. This was it—everything he'd ever wanted. The first step to his future as a police officer in the Chicago PD. He exhaled and walked into the school.


	2. Chapter 2: The New Kid

**Chapter 2: The New Kid**

Northerly Island was a 91-acre man-made peninsula that jutted into Lake Michigan at the heart of the Museum Campus. At the northern end of the island, there was a private yacht club, the planetarium and a Pavilion for outdoor concerts. Whelan Academy was located at the southern end of the island.

Built in 1925, the school's grounds included the main building, library, athletic center, chapel, gardens and a firing range. The main building, called Connor Hall (after the Academy's founder, Connor Whelan), not only contained classrooms, offices, a ballroom, the kitchens and the dining hall, but also housed the students, staff and teachers, with enough extra rooms for guests and special visitors.

The school's north and west wings had spectacular views of the Chicago skyline, while the south and west wings afforded views of the large expanse of Lake Michigan; but, Ian had no doubt that he would be given an inner room, without a window, as rooms were allocated based on seniority. He'd read about the Academy so much that he had all the facts memorized, but the reality and the grandeur of the place took his breath away like a paragraph written in a book never could.

When he opened the large, wooden, double doors of the main entrance, he was greeted by a short man in his mid-thirties wearing a gray uniform, which identified him as a staff member.

"Hi, I'm Ian Gallagher..."

The man nodded and motioned for Ian to follow him. Ian was led to an office deep within Connor Hall. "Leave your bag outside," the man ordered while he held the door open for Ian. The redhead rested the duffel bag against the wall beside the door and walked into the room. The man let the door slam behind him and Ian jumped forward, startled.

The office was cold and dark, only dimly lit by a small desk lamp. The stained glass over the lamp cast a green glow on whatever surrounded it. As Ian walked closer to the executive desk at the center of the room, the headmaster came into view. He sat in a leather armchair and—Ian tried not to laugh—was smoking a pipe. It was just too perfect.

Headmaster Whelan was tall and muscular, with dark brown hair that fell into his hazel eyes. Though he was plain-looking, there was something commanding about him.

"Ian Gallagher?" His voice was thin and nasal. He frowned as he opened Ian's file. "I hope you'll do better here than your father did. What a waste _that_ education was. Is he still drinking?"

Ian swallowed hard. The Headmaster made him nervous. "He's never _not_ drinking, sir."

The Headmaster looked at him sharply, not sure if he was being insolent. Then he smiled and nodded. "Have a seat," he said, motioning to the chair facing his desk. "You're here to learn what it is to be a cop. A police officer must uphold the law, defend the defenseless, and always be willing to put his life on the line. You have to learn to fight for what is right, and hopefully, one day you might even be able to tell what right is." Ian couldn't tell if he was joking, and decided not to ask. "It is our mission to teach you the skills you will need. Half of your day will be spent learning physical skills, while the other half will be spent with books, in the hope that we can teach you how to think."

"There are over sixty students here, and if you cannot keep up with the demands of this institution, you will not only lose your scholarship, but also you place in the Academy. After two years, you will have earned the equivalent of your high school diploma. When you finish your third year here, you will be allowed to take the civil service exam and physical to become an officer. If you pass, you can choose a specialty. Whether you want to be a standard officer, patrol, a ticketer, a detective or anything else on the force, an education at Whelan Academy will prepare you for it by providing you with the essential skills needed to succeed in the law enforcement field. But don't worry about the exam just yet. Graduating should be your main concern."

"One of the older students will sponsor you and show you how things are done here. You'll be in his charge until you are familiar with the grounds and your responsibilities. If you can follow the rules and work hard, you won't see me often. Misbehave, and you'll learn how harsh I can be." Ian swallowed.

"When you prove yourself worthy, you will be given free time to go into the city. Make no mistake—you'll earn every privilege you get ten times over. You're here to learn, not to have a good time. Steven," -Ian realized the man from earlier had returned- "take him to his room, and make sure he is properly uniformed." The Headmaster eyed Ian. "Do you have any questions?"

"No sir," Ian replied. It took everything he had to not let his voice quaver. What was it about this man that made him feel like such a kid? The Headmaster nodded one last time and dropped his gaze down to the papers on his desk. Ian clearly no longer had his attention, so he turned to follow Steven, who he assumed was the Headmaster's assistant.

Their first stop was the tailor, who measured Ian without a word. He returned from the storage closet with his arms full of clothing, boots and dress shoes, and dumped them in front of Ian. "You rip 'em, you mend 'em," he said, then went back to writing numbers into a notebook.

Steven passed by the kitchen and picked up a sandwich for Ian. "You might not be hungry now, but there's still quite a few hours before dinner," he said to him. Steven spent half an hour showing him around the place. Ian was lost in no time, and didn't believe Steven when he told him he would learn his way around. It all made him feel extremely small.

The students' dorms were all on the fourth floor of the building. Once in his room, Ian was able to relax. His duffel bag had been brought up for him, so he dumped his uniforms onto the bed and took a look around. All of the furniture was made of strong, dark-stained oak. There was a twin bed, a dresser, a desk and a small chair. The room may have been small and bare by other people's standards, but after sharing a room for his whole life, the privacy made up for the size.

Steven had told him he had until five in the afternoon to himself, and that when he was ready, he could follow the other boys down to the dining hall. Ian ate his sandwich and occupied himself with unpacking. He put a few pictures of his siblings on the desk to remind him of home. When he ran out of things to do, he took out the Whelan Academy handbook they'd sent him with his acceptance letter and reread it, committing the rules to memory once again.

At half past four, Ian decided to get dressed. He looked at his reflection in the mirror and had never looked that sharp in his life. The uniform consisted of dark, navy slacks and a matching blazer worn over a white, pressed shirt and a navy and burgundy diagonally striped tie. The school's burgundy and gold crest was sewn on the breast pocket of the blazer. Burgundy socks and black leather shoes completed the ensemble. The uniform gave him the courage he needed to unlock the door and step into the hall.

Several other students saw him and hurried to spread the word that the new kid had arrived. Suddenly the halls of the dorm were very quiet and everyone had come to inspect the newest Whelan student.

Someone behind Ian grabbed him. He spun around. A tall, gangly boy who looked to be much older than him looked him over, a sneer on his thin lips. He had cold, gray eyes and sandy-blond hair that flopped over his forehead.

"This must be the scholarship kid," he said aloud to the other students. His crooked teeth were visible once he started talking. "Here to fill the quota?"

"Leave him alone, Luke," someone protested. "He didn't say anything to you."

"He doesn't have to," Luke snapped. "I bet he's some poor little white-trash nobody, trying to pass for one of us."

Ian felt his cheeks turn warm and knew he must have turned a dark red. "I was under the impression that we were here to learn to be respectable officers of the law. Whoever told me that must have been wrong."

The boy grabbed his collar, lifting him off his feet. "You'll do what you're told," he hissed, "until you earn the right to call yourself an officer. If I say you're white trash, you say, 'Yes, sir!'"

Ian gasped with fury. "You son of a bitch!"

Luke threw him hard against the wall. Ian charged, ramming into his stomach and knocking him to the floor. Luke yelled and shoved him off.

"What's going on here?"

The young voice was clear and forceful. Luke froze and Ian slowly got to his feet. The watching boys made way for a dark-haired boy and his four companions.

Luke was the first to speak. "This boy was acting like he owned the place," he whined. "He insulted me and I was defending my hon-"

"I wasn't speaking to you, Greene." His bright, hazel eyes fixed on Luke's. The two boys were about the same height, but the brunette seemed to be about a year younger and much more commanding. "Unless I'm mistaken, I told you not to talk to me at all."

"But he-"

"Shut up, Luke," one of the boy's friends instructed. This one was big, with tightly curled brown hair and coal-black eyes.

Luke stepped out of the way, clearly pissed off. The boy who seemed to be running things looked around. "I got this, Nathan," he said to the big guy. "Salvatore." He nodded to a boy who had been there from the start. "What happened?"

The boy stepped forward. His shoulder-length, black hair was still wet from washing. He was the one who had told Luke to leave Ian alone.

"Come on... You know I hate being called Salvatore. It's just 'Sal' now..." He looked at Tom and waited for a nod before he continued. They clearly knew each other already. "It was Luke, Tom," Sal said in a heavy Italian accent. "He started it all, called the new kid white-trash and poor." Ian blushed and hung his head. He could see Luke's fists clench and knew he'd made his first enemy. "He threw the new boy against the wall," Sal went on. "The new boy tackled him and knocked him down. That's when you came."

"I see. Leave now, Luke, and I won't tell my father about this." Luke hurled himself out of the hallway and the boys all watched him go before returning their attention to Ian, who was still staring at the floor.

"You have good taste in enemies, even if you do make them on your first day here," Tom said. "Let's have a look at you, Red."

Slowly he looked up into Tom's hazel eyes. The guy was tall! There was a ring of amber around his irises that made his eyes seem to glow. Tom looked about a year older than him. His nose was straight and slightly too large for his face, but in an attractive way. Ian linked his hands behind his back, giving him stare for stare. "I'm Thomas Whelan," he said, smiling down at Ian. He held out his hand but Ian was still too shocked to move. It wasn't every day you met the Headmaster's son.

"I'm sorry about what... what you saw," Ian stammered.

"You didn't start it, right?" Tom asked him. Ian shook his head. "Exactly. Plus, Luke's an asshole. What's your name?" He was still holding out his hand, waiting for Ian to shake it.

"Ian Gallagher, sir," he said, smiling and shaking Tom's hand. He felt a jolt when their hands touched. Paired with the smile Tom gave him back, it was enough to make his stomach flip.

"Ugh. Don't call me 'sir'! It sounds like you're talking to my father..." Tom frowned. "Gallagher...? That name sounds familiar..."

Ian's smile melted away. "My dad was a cop."

"Was?" the big guy, Nathan, asked. "Did he die on duty?"

When Ian looked down again and shook his head, Tom cut the silence. "I see... Well, have you met the others?" he said, changing the subject.

All of the other boys tried to introduce themselves at once. Tom's group of friends consisted of Nathan, the one who had told Luke to shut up, Kieran, Patrick and Nick. Kieran was a stereotypical Irish boy, all splotchy skin and light features. He was heavy-set and had a buzz cut. Patrick was tall, with chestnut colored hair and eyes. He introduced himself as Pat O'Hara, and Ian recognized the name: he was the District Attorney's son. Nathan's shy, brunette shadow was Nick. He was so shy, in fact, that Nathan was the one to introduce him, telling Ian he was his cousin on his mom's side and a first year as well. There were others, but these four, and Tom, were the leaders. Ian was lost in the sea of names.

Finally Thomas said, "Now that we've met our newest member, who will sponsor him?"

Five of the older boys raised their hands. Thomas nodded. "Your sponsor keeps you from getting too lost," he explained to Ian. "I think Patrick had better take you in hand."

Patrick nodded to Ian, giving him a friendly smile. "Great," he said, just as the dinner bell rang.

"We'd better go," Thomas announced. "Ian, stay close to Pat."

Ian followed his new sponsor to the dining hall. They picked up trays and walked down the cafeteria line, taking whatever was offered. It wasn't as bad as public school food, but it still left a lot to be desired.

"Don't worry, you'll be so hungry once training and classes start that you'll grow to love it," Pat told him.

Ian met some of the other first years in his class, but he only remembered a few of their names. There were Peter and Paul, twins from the North Side. They were short, blond, curly-haired and rosy-cheeked, almost like those little cherubim in Renaissance paintings. Sal, the Italian who had defended Ian back in the dorms, was also a new student, as well as the quiet, dark-skinned boy sitting next to him, named Kash.

Kash and Ian talked during most of the meal, and he gave Ian the meat from his plate. Apparently he was Muslim, and couldn't eat meat unless it was Halal.

Pat guided him to his room after dessert. "Welcome to Whelan, little Gallagher," he said cheerfully.

Ian crawled sleepily into bed, thinking it wasn't so bad for his first day...


	3. Chapter 3: Finding a Routine

**A/N: I'm having so much fun writing this, even if it's near impossible to find the time to do it. Props to Stella (JadeStellz) for being the only one to catch the Alanna parallels! It was my favorite story when I read it 15 years ago (shh, I'm 27 now) and I've never forgotten it. I hope this long chapter makes up for the slow updates.**

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**Chapter 3: Finding a Routine**

A bell chimed at dawn and woke Ian up. With a loud groan, he got up and found the bathrooms. He washed his face and brushed his teeth, then made his way back to his room and got dressed.

Patrick, wide-awake and disgustingly cheerful, came for him just as he was finished putting his tie on. They had breakfast together in the dining hall and hurried to their first class when the bell rang again. Ian had to run to keep up with him.

"We have Math, History, Laws & Ethics, Psychology, Science and English every day," Pat explained. When Ian looked at him, wide-eyed, Pat let out a chuckle. "I know it sounds like a lot, but that's only in the mornings. The second half of the day is all physical—weapons training, hand to hand combat, sports, etc... Don't worry, you'll get the hang of it."

To Ian's surprise, all of the aforementioned subjects were taught in large classrooms that fit both first and second years. The forty-odd students were separated into groups based on their abilities. In Math, they studied a combination of geometry, trigonometry and calculus. The syllabus was designed to prepare them for their future careers, so the material centered on things officers would need to know: bullet trajectories, mechanics and ballistics, etc. What they had to learn was interesting enough, but the teacher was absolutely dreadful. He made them memorize the formulas and wouldn't allow the use of a calculator in his classroom.

Their history teacher was as boring as the topic he was teaching. Ian had hoped they would learn about the history of _Chicago_, gangsters and all that, but it was the same old thing he'd learned in high school. In Laws & Ethics, aside from having to learn actual laws, they were also expected to debate the gray areas. For Psychology, they studied profiling and how to deal with insane criminals.

The bell finally rang, and all the boys shot up. Ian remained seated, still working on the summary of the chapter on schizophrenia he'd been assigned.

"Come on, Gallagher. Hurry up before lunch is over and we haven't eaten."

"But I'm not done!"

"You can get to it during your free time," Patrick answered, pulling Ian out of his seat.

After lunch, they went back to the second floor for more classes. Science was filled with DNA and blood splatter analysis. The science teacher gave him a worksheet to complete by the next day, but the bell rang when he was only partly done.

"When do I finish this?" he asked Pat, waving the paper at him. He was guiding him to their next class.

"In your free time."

"But I have to finish those math problems, summarize the chapter on the War of 1812 and write an argument against the death penalty in my free time!"

Patrick shrugged. "Look, if you get stuck, offer to help Kieran with his extra patrols. He's a pro with numbers. Come on," he said, holding the door open for Ian.

As they walked down the hallway, Patrick showed him the computer lab. "You can use the computers at night whenever you want to do homework and stuff, but they only turn the internet on on Sundays, so make sure you set up a Skype account. It's the only way you'll be able to call home from the school."

English was their last class before lunch, but Ian could tell there was something different about this class. The other boys sat upright in their chairs, looking as if they were interested in what was about to happen. The teacher entered to friendly greetings. He had brown, wavy hair streaked with gray and a goatee. He wore a gray suit and carried a thin, black leather briefcase. Ian met the man's large, green-brown eyes and smiled in spite of himself; he liked him on sight. He introduced himself as Professor Hearst.

"A lot of you new kids might be wondering what the hell you need English for. I know it's hard to think that grammar and creative writing will help you in the future; but, I promise you, if one day your suspect walks free because you misspelled something on your police report, you're going to _wish _you'd paid better attention to me!" The boys all laughed. Hearst assigned them each a two page essay on any topic of their choice, so he could get a handle on their writing styles.

Ian left the class thinking something seemed oddly familiar about the old man.

"Why the frown?" Patrick asked, catching up to him. "Don't you like Professor Hearst? He's my favorite."

Startled, Ian blinked at him. "Oh, no. I liked him a lot. He just seemed..."

"Odd," Kieran said dryly. He and Patrick were to be close friends. They were always joking together and were practically joined at the hip. "The word you want is 'odd.'"

"Kieran and Myles endlessly argue about grammar. He thinks language is always evolving and growing, and that what wasn't strictly correct before might be normal now. Hearst doesn't always agree," Patrick explained.

"Actually, he sounded very smart," Ian said hesitantly, "but..."

"He's also the school drunk," Kieran pointed out. That was it... that was what was so familiar about the professor. Ian frowned. Alcohol had ruined his family, and it seemed like Ian could never get away from it.

With their morning classes done, they walked outside to the Athletic Center, also called the Ace for short (a play on the initials, A & C). The three story building held training rooms, a gymnasium, pool, simulation rooms, weight-training equipment, lockers and showers. They changed into their gym clothes, which consisted of a navy polo shirt, navy pants and tough, black boots.

Captain Alex O'Malley, their trainer, was a hard-ass. Ian knew all about him from the articles he'd read and research he'd done on the Academy before arriving, but nothing had prepared him for what the man would be like in person. He was the most intimidating adult Ian had ever met.

His cold, blue eyes seemed to cut right through Ian. He had a multitude of scars on his body, particularly on his hands. He clearly fought with knives often. His skin was tan and weathered, and he kept his gray hair cut short to lessen the harshness of a receding hairline that couldn't be hidden.

Their afternoon began with an hour of push-up, sit-ups, jumps, twists and any other exercises that Captain O'Malley could think of that would tire them out. Just when Ian thought the cardio part was over, he made them run laps for another hour around the indoor track that circled the basketball courts inside the Ace.

The boys were all paired up and taught how to properly fall down without breaking their wrists. Ian and Kash were made to work together, and Ian swore they must have knocked each other down at least a hundred times. His body felt like a piece of tenderized veal. Each time he fell, he tried to slap the ground as he hit, trying to take his weight on all the right places and creating new bruises whenever he missed of forgot. Captain O'Malley eventually ended the torturous lesson, only to teach them different hand signals and military shorthands.

Once they were dismissed, the boys practically ran to the showers. The hot water on his sore body helped ease some of the pain he was feeling. The sheer amount of information Ian had to process on his first day of classes was overwhelming. How was he ever going to keep up if it was only going to get harder?

Lost in his own little bubble, Ian didn't realize how much time had passed. He got his towel and made his way to his locker when he heard something that sounded like begging coming from the other side of the room.

"Please don't hit me. Please... _Please_..."

Ian rounded the corner of the row of lockers and saw Kash on the floor, grabbing onto a bench for support. Luke and a few of his buddies were obviously harassing him. Ian recognized one of the boys, Ryan, because he'd asked a lot of questions during their science class.

"Keep crying, Osama. It's about time you pay up for what your people did to us," another member of Luke's little gang spat right before he kicked Kash in the stomach.

"Leave him alone!" Ian shouted before he could even realize what he was doing.

Luke turned around to see who had interrupted him and sneered at Ian. "Oh, looks like white-trash wants to play too," he said to his friends. He looked Ian in the eye and Ian felt a chill of fear pass through him. He turned to run but wasn't quick enough.

When it was over, Ian lied on the ground, too weak to move. As if the day's classes hadn't been bad enough on his body, he was actually afraid to see what the damage was. After the first couple of kicks to his gut, he had stopped keeping track and had just concentrated on protecting his head like Lip had shown him.

He saw Kash move from the corner of his eye. The boy sat up, back leaning against the lockers behind him. Ian slowly did the same, but it took all the strength he had left.

"They called me a terrorist," Kash whispered. "I'm from Evanston..."

Ian closed his eyes. "Sorry I couldn't stop them," he said, voice just as low.

"Are you kidding?" Kash coughed. "You did more than you had to."

Ian looked at Kash guiltily, but didn't argue. He didn't have the energy. Maybe he had tried to help in the beginning, but he knew that when it really mattered, he had tried to run away. He was ashamed by his own cowardice.

Something must have shown on his face because he felt Kash put a hand gently on his leg, just above his knee.

"At least you tried to help..." the dark-skinned boy said. "Do you know how many people just walked by?" Ian was too tired to shake his head. He kept staring at Kash's hand on his thigh, which the other boy hadn't moved away yet.

"Come on boys! Dinner's in fifteen minutes! Get your asses up and out of here!" Captain O'Malley shouted as he walked through the locker room, presumably doing a final check to make sure everyone had left. Kash hurriedly moved his hand away and started to get up.

Kash was standing by the time Captain O'Malley made it to their corner of the room. "Come on Gallagher!" their trainer yelled again when he saw Ian still on the floor. "If this is how you act after your first day of training, you're never gonna make it here!"

Kash held out a hand and Ian took it. They walked to the main building and somehow made it up the four flights of stairs to their respective dorms. They didn't talk about what had happened. Dinner was a blur and Ian passed out the minute his head hit his pillow.

Upon waking the next morning, Ian was sure he was dead. Every muscle in his body was stiff and sore, and it took him twenty minutes to get out of bed. He examined his body in the mirror, cringing at the dark blue and purple bruises all over his pale skin. He didn't have much time to dwell on it because Patrick came to collect him once again.

To his horror, Ian didn't remember he hadn't done his homework assignments from the day before until their Math teacher asked for them. In addition to the problems from the prior day and the current day's homework, he was assigned a whole sheet of extra problems to do as punishment. The same thing happened in History, Laws & Ethics, Psychology and Science, each teacher shaking their head at him in disappointment. It was a terrible first impression to make on them and Ian just wanted to melt away into his seat. Professor Hearst was the only understanding one, telling Ian he could hand it in the following day as long as this was the last time he missed an assignment.

Ian somehow got through the rest of the day and rushed to get cleaned up after training so as not to be caught alone in the locker room again. He sat with Patrick and his friends during dinner. Thomas held everyone's attention with stories of what he'd seen at the school over the years. Ian hadn't even thought about the fact that Thomas had _grown __up_ on Northerly Island until that moment, being privately tutored by the different teachers on their off hours.

Ian knew Thomas was straight but that didn't change the fact that he felt weak whenever the other boy looked at him. Ian told himself to stop staring at Tom's perfect mouth and perfect lips before someone noticed.

After dinner, Ian got up to return his tray to the kitchens when Luke stuck his foot out, tripping him and sending the leftover contents of his meal all over the floor.

"Better learn to be more careful, Gallagher," Luke called over his back as he walked out of the dining hall with his friends.

"I'll help you," Kash said from behind Ian. He walked to the kitchen and returned with a roll of paper towels. The two boys wiped up the mess and then hurried back up to their rooms to grab their books and join Patrick and the others in the computer lab. Ian was barely able to finish the regular homework and hadn't even touched the punishment assignments before he fell asleep with his head in his Psychology textbook. Nathan was the last one to leave the computer lab so he woke Ian up on his way out.

The weeks went on and by the end of September, Ian could say that he was accustomed to life at Whelan Academy. He'd established a routine: each night he would study with Pat, Tom and their friends. He would do as much homework as he could, and take the punishments as they were doled out, sans complaint. The work accumulated but he continued to try his hardest to stay afloat. Training was even getting less painful, his body eventually getting used to the grueling workouts. He and Kash were usually paired together. Ian wished he could have worked the exercises with Tom, but figured it was probably a good thing that he wouldn't get distracted by the boy's muscles.

Ian was climbing the northeast staircase one night after staying in the Library later than usual when he heard the unmistakeable sounds of violence on the floor above him. Ian stopped and thought the situation through. He could just turn around and go get help. Surely getting involved wouldn't actually make a difference. It wasn't like he could take anyone on himself... but then he heard the victim's cry—_Kash's_ cry—and knew he didn't really have a choice. If he wasted time and went to get help, it would all be over by the time he got back.

Ian took the stairs two at a time and when he made it to the third floor landing, he saw Luke, Ryan and another third year named Derek standing in a circle around Kash, taunting him. They were letting him get close to the door but kicking and punching him each time he tried to open it. The whole thing reminded Ian of a tiger teasing his prey.

"Stop it!" Ian yelled. The older boys turned to look at the source of the protest. Luke made eye contact with Ian and the smirk on the blond boy's face made Ian freeze in place.

"Well, well, well... Look who it is, boys! I guess Gallagher wants to play too!"

Ian really tried to fight back this time. He wished he could have said that he'd gotten a few punches in before the inevitable end, but he hadn't even landed one.

"You shouldn't have gotten involved..." Kash said to Ian once the boys had left.

Ian shrugged and winced from the pain.

Kash eventually got up, albeit slowly, and offered his hand down to Ian to help the redhead up. Ian took the offered hand and stood. He was only a couple inches away from Kash so he moved to take a step back but Kash kept his hold on Ian's hand, effectively limiting Ian's movements.

Ian looked up at Kash's face and was surprised by what he saw. It was more than just gratitude—it was _desire_. Ian suddenly felt warm and knew he must be blushing. Kash closed the little distance between them, and Ian's eyes widened as Kash kissed him.

"Thanks," he breathed once he'd pulled away.

Ian was so flustered he didn't know what else to say besides, "you're welcome."

Patrol duty began for first years the following day. All it meant for Ian was that he'd be outside walking around the edges of the school grounds two nights a week, freezing his ass off and losing four precious hours of sleep. They always patrolled in pairs, and Ian was grateful to have been paired up with Nathan's cousin, Nick. They kept busy during their patrol by getting to know each other, and Ian could see why Thomas, Patrick, Kieran and Nathan were so fond of the first year. He was so drily sarcastic that if you didn't know him, you would mistakenly think he was just being a jerk. The nights flew by.

Things with Kash just sort of happened. They obviously hadn't planned it, but less than a week after that first kiss, they were sneaking around and stealing moments together whenever they could. Ian quickly learned that the Library was the least occupied building on the grounds, and most nights, under the pretense of doing research, Ian snuck away from his friends to meet Kash there.

"Come back with me to my room," Kash said when they broke apart from their kiss. They were both out of breath from making out and rubbing against each other.

"Are you sure?" Ian wondered aloud. Going to Kash's room would mean that they'd be taking their relationship to the next level, something they hadn't quite talked about. Before Kash, Ian had only hooked up with one guy before, and that hadn't exactly been easy considering the neighborhood he'd grown up in.

Kash nodded.

"Okay," Ian said.

Once in his room, Kash closed the door and immediately ripped his shirt off. Ian followed suit. They started kissing again, Kash with his back against his door. The dark-skinned boy opened the button of Ian's slacks and reached his hand into Ian's boxers. The redhead was already at half mast, and Kash's warm, firm grip on his dick was only making him harder.

They made out while Kash jerked him, Ian's erection rubbing against the other boy's stomach with each tug.

"If you keep that up I'm gonna cum all over you," Ian warned with a little chuckle.

"I'd rather you come _in_ me..." Kash said, suddenly serious.

It only took Ian a second to react to the forwardness of Kash's comment. He immediately pulled the other boy's pants and boxers down, letting them fall to his ankles. Kash wasn't that big, but it didn't matter since Ian would clearly be the one doing the fucking.

"Get on the bed," he ordered.

It was the Sunday before Halloween. Ian had just gotten off his weekly Skype call with his siblings (all except Lip, who'd been busy working on a big paper or something—at least that was the excuse he'd given his brother). With two of her siblings of the house, Fiona had apparently met a guy named Steve. She tried to play it down but Ian knew it was a big deal for his big sister to be dating. He hoped the guy was good to her. Debbie had talked about school, proudly telling Ian about the spelling bee she'd been in a few days ago. Carl didn't offer much in terms of details, but Ian was happy to just hear his brother's voice. Of course Liam hadn't said anything but Ian had heard him blabbing about something while he'd spoken with Fiona.

He missed them so much that later that night, when he and Kash were lying together in his bed after a second round of sex, Ian told him all about his life back in Canaryville, including the parts he tried to never think about, like Frank and his alcoholism.

Ian had been at Whelan Academy for almost three months and had managed to stay out of serious trouble. He was on his way to his Science class after lunch when Steven found him.

"Headmaster Whelan wants to see you in his office," the assistant told him, face emotionless. Ian felt like someone had walked over his grave, but wouldn't dare ask Steven why. He silently followed the man to the headmaster's office.

"Sir?" Ian asked once he was inside. The headmaster was standing behind his desk this time, looking out the window while smoking his pipe.

"Sit," he said to Ian. "Your teachers have given you satisfactory grades thus far, and Captain O'Malley hasn't said anything too horrible," the headmaster said. Ian breathed a sigh of relief, happy that he hadn't gotten into any trouble. Headmaster Whelan continued, "I think you've earned a day off. This Saturday, in fact. You can take one of the older boys with you so that you don't get lost downtown."

"Can I go with Patrick, sir?"

"The O'Hara boy?" the headmaster asked, finally turning to look at Ian.

Ian nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Very well. Make sure you return before dinner."

"Thank you, sir."

Ian ran back up to his classroom to tell Pat the good news.

With Christmas only a little more than a month away, Ian wasn't sure when he might have another opportunity to get some Christmas shopping done. As he and Pat walked through the farmer's market, Ian's head was darting back and forth at the many stalls selling crafts. "There's so much of everything!" he told Patrick, completely overwhelmed. "I have no clue what to buy for my sisters."

"Most of this stuff is complete shit," Patrick told him.

"Yeah, but it's all I can afford..."

Ian was busy looking at some handmade bead necklaces when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Startled, he looked up into the bright blue eyes of the man Lip had called a thief just three months before.

"So-it's the little Firecrotch from the Academy," he said, taking a strong inhale from his cigarrette. "I was wonderin' if you'd already gotten yourself shot."

"How did you know I go to the Academy?" Ian asked. He had been wearing plain clothes when he'd first seen the man, and was in jeans and a plaid shirt under his winter coat now. Ian only got a smirk from the guy in response to his question.

"Who's your friend, Ian?" Pat asked, looking at the man Ian was talking to suspiciously.

"Allow me to introduce myself, boys. I'm Mickey Milkovich. Why don't you join me for a drink?"

Pat opened his mouth to comment but Ian cut him off. "'Kay. Sure." If the guy wasn't concerned with the fact that they were underage, then why should Ian be?

Mickey led them to a bar called the Alibi. He crushed his finished cigarette on the floor outside the door before walking in. The bartender greeted him familiarly and rushed to bring them beers.

Ian watched Mickey closely as he lifted his glass to take a sip of the draught. He was short, but held himself up as if he was the tallest motherfucker around. His hair was jet black, buzzed on the sides but long and gelled on the top. His eyes were the brightest blue that Ian had ever seen; they looked like oceans. He had the works "FUCK U-UP" tattooed across his knuckles, and cracked them as Ian scrutinized him. He felt something powerful, almost royal, about Mickey. He definitely liked the guy.

Mickey said that he was twent-five, but he looked older. Something in his eyes made him look like he'd been through way more than your average twenty-five year-old.

"You shouldn't be surprised that I looked into you," he said to Ian. "It's not everyday that a kid with hair like yours comes walking through my city. Thought you might like a friend on the outside."

"_Your _city?" Patrick asked sharply.

Mickey clearly decided to ignore Patrick's comment. He looked at the older boy and then back to Ian. "I trust my instincts. In my line of work, you learn quick to trust your instincts."

"What do you do?" Ian wondered.

Mickey bit his bottom lip but let it fall back to place quickly. "Import/export."

"Which is code for saying you're a thief," Patrick said flatly.

"'Thief' is such a harsh word, little O'Hara. You both still have your wallets—go ahead, check." Ian reached down and felt for his wallet through his jeans. It was still there.

Patrick's jaw hung open. "How did you know my name?"

"I know you're the District Attorney's son, just as you knew from my name who I really am," Mickey said with a crooked grin. "If you weren't with Ian, I wouldn't have bothered you."

Patrick looked angry. "If you think making friends with us will give you some kind of advantage once we're real cops, or if you think you can blackmail us to get to the Headmaster's father, you're wrong."

"Calm down. My issues with the Chief of Police won't involve you... This one's feisty," he said to Ian, who couldn't stifle his laugh. He doubted anyone had ever called Patrick feisty before.

"_I _still don't know who you are," Ian said, clearly not as caught up as Patrick was about Mickey's identity. What would Mickey have to do with Tom's grandfather?

Mickey grinned. "I'm who they call the King of the Underground. 'The Underground' is everyone who makes their living by not-so-strictly-legal means," he explained to Ian. "My dad was the King before me, but he had to... um... _retire. _I run it all: you need girls, drugs, guns—anything, really, and I'm your man. There's no extortion, embezzlement, fraud, robbery or gambling that goes down in Chicago without me knowing about it."

Ian looked at Mickey appraisingly. The guy had admitted to what he was outright, and that took balls, especially when considering the company he was in.

Patrick looked Mickey over as well. Something unspoken passed between them because Pat suddenly held his hand out to Mickey. "You may be a thief, but I definitely like you," he said.

Mickey took the offered hand. "We can't help who our fathers are," he said in return. "Friends, then?"

"Friends," Pat confirmed.

"What about you?" Mickey asked Ian.

Ian couldn't help smiling. There was just something about Mickey that he _trusted_.

Mickey took his smile as confirmation. "Great. KEV!" he shouted towards the bartender. "Bring us more beer!" He drained what remained of his glass and waved it in Kev's direction.

"Don't ever worry about your wallets, or those of the friends you bring here, but be careful who you do bring. One wrong word and Chief Whelan will have my ass."

"We'll be careful," Patrick promised. "Don't worry about Ian. He can keep his mouth shut."

Mickey nodded. "Didn't doubt it. Not a lot of kids would hear everything we've discussed and stay silent. Well, you boys should probably leave. If you need anything, send word through Jerry—he works in the kitchen. You'll find me here most of the time, and if not, just ask Kev. He'll be able to find me."

"See you soon, I hope," Ian said, getting up.

Mickey stood too. He and Ian shook hands, and when Ian took his hand back, there were two joints in his palm. "For the road," Mickey explained. Ian shook his head but pocketed the weed nevertheless. At least now he had Lip's Christmas gift.


End file.
